


Neon Green and Extra Tight

by coinin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Butt Plugs, Casual Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Human Zenyatta, M/M, Unsafe Sex, vague teacher/student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 04:37:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19456504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coinin/pseuds/coinin
Summary: Tekhartha Zenyatta teaches yoga at a fancy resort. One of his students is trying to seduce him, much to Zenyatta's amusement.





	Neon Green and Extra Tight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nagaina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nagaina/gifts).



> Smut meme prompt written for Solivar, who asked for Genji Shimada & swimsuits. This got away from me.
> 
> For reference, the poses in the order they're mentioned: [Tadasana](https://www.yogaoutlet.com/guides/how-to-do-mountain-pose-in-yoga), [Prasarita Padottanasana](https://www.yogabasics.com/asana/wide-legged-forward-bend/), and [Uttana Shishosana](https://www.yogajournal.com/poses/extended-puppy-pose). Fun fact: I was going to use the English names until I got to Extended Puppy Pose, and then I went back and changed them all.
> 
> yada yada yada use condoms, kids.

“Inhale,” Zenyatta says. “Feel the Iris inside you.”

His pupil coughs unconvincingly, muttering something under his breath that sounds like _I fucking wish_ , and Zenyatta has to remember his own advice. It’s more difficult than it should be, and his deep, centering breath is more of a grim attempt to hold on to the last, fraying shreds of his self control. Perhaps his teachers had a point about isolating oneself from worldly distractions.

Worldly distractions in this case being one Genji Tanaka (Zenyatta will cheerfully rescind his vows if Tanaka is actually his family name) and his tattoos and his stupid, stupid swimsuit.

Especially the swimsuit.

Neon green to match his hair, modestly knee-length and utterly, completely, entirely immodestly tight; it fits Genji like a second skin, clinging to his thighs and caressing the curves of his spectacular ass, dipping so perilously low over the cut of his hipbones as to make Zenyatta uncomfortably aware of the perfectly manicured trail of hair leading the eye down to a certain bulge, cupped gently in the supportive grip of spandex.

“The Iris is around us and in us. Tadasana, please. Align yourself with the earth, and breathe,” Zenyatta continues, mustering himself to remain placid and outwardly in control in the face of Genji, unusually pink-cheeked and breathless for this point in their lesson. Is it Zenyatta’s admittedly overactive imagination, or is the bulge more prominent today?

Zenyatta’s order emphasizes the importance of self-honesty, but rejects the kind of extreme asceticism that would lead to mental or physical suffering. Particular to Zenyatta’s current situation, nowhere in his vows had Zenyatta forsworn sex.

Genji doesn’t seem to know that, however, and watching his increasingly blatant efforts toward seducing Zenyatta has provided endless entertainment - and increasing sexual frustration - over the past week, ever since Genji sauntered into Zenyatta’s beginning yoga class half an hour late, wearing nothing more than the smallest lime green and pink polka-dotted Speedo and a rumpled linen button down slipping down his shoulders. Since then he’s booked a private session every day, proving himself surprisingly adept at meditation and alarmingly flexible. Also alarming is his taste in swimwear, which varies in length but is always offensively bright and so tight as to leave almost nothing to the imagination. As entertaining as the game has been, Zenyatta grows tired of it. Today, he acts.

“Legs apart,” Zenyatta says, enjoying the brief widening of Genji’s eyes, the way he licks his lips. “Wider,” he continues, moving around behind Genji. He bends, runs one hand from the inside of Genji’s knee to his ankle in the guise of assisting his pupil’s form, spreading his legs further. 

Genji takes one sharp breath in and holds it. 

“Breathe,” Zenyatta reminds him, smiling to himself at the way Genji’s hands flex, the frustrated snort he gets in response. “Your form is sloppy today, Tanaka-san.”

“Sorry master,” Genji mutters, sounding anything but. “You can call me Genji, I’ve told you before.”

Zenyatta only hums in response, standing again. 

“We will now continue into Prasarita Padottanasana. Back straight, now lean forward. Very good, now further,” Zenyatta says, urging Genji down with a gentle hand on the back of his neck.

He’s going to have to abandon his unaffected pretense very soon, judging by the way Genji shudders under his hand, breath picking up. 

“Hands around your ankles,” Zenyatta says. He can always move Genji to the more stable option of hands flat under his shoulders if this works out.

Genji complies with admirable speed, though if Zenyatta were actually trying to teach him he would critique Genji’s rapid breathing.

“Use your arms to pull your head into the floor,” Zenyatta continues, “and lift your hips toward the ceiling.” 

Genji whimpers.

It’s high and quickly smothered, but in the silence of the private yoga studio it’s impossible to miss. Zenyatta smiles.

“Very good,” he says, admiring the view spread out before him; the muscles in Genji’s legs standing out under the strain of holding the pose, the material of his swimsuit stretched obscenely over his ass, dipping down between the cheeks. “Now we will hold this pose for eight breaths. Follow me: In. Out. In...”

Genji’s hips are flexing minutely to the beat of Zenyatta’s voice, and Zenyatta finds himself swaying closer to match Genji’s movements.

“In,” he says, the last breath, and finally lets himself press in like he’s been wanting to, snugs his cock up against Genji’s ass and lets him feel how hard Zenyatta is.

“Oh _fuck_ finally, please,” Genji gasps out all in one breath.

“Patience,” Zenyatta says with calm he doesn’t feel. Genji’s body is hot against his; he wants to yank that stupid swimsuit down and feel Genji skin to skin.

“I’ve _been_ patient!” Genji says. “I’ve been patient _all week_ , now come on, fuck me.”

Zenyatta leans back, not far enough to stop touching but enough to look down and see Genji’s ass, enough to get his hands on it and squeeze. Genji makes another whimpery sound as Zenyatta digs his fingers into the firm muscle. 

“Fuck,” Genji gasps. “Why are your hands so strong, fuck.”

Zenyatta doesn’t answer, just squeezes harder, pulling Genji’s cheeks apart and sliding his thumbs down, in. He stops suddenly when his thumbs meet something unyielding in the crease of Genji’s ass; takes a sharp breath that matches Genji’s gasp. Urgent heat twists lightning-fast through Zenyatta’s body.

Zenyatta had hoped to draw this out longer, torture them both, but he finds he’s suddenly run out of patience. He tugs Genji’s swim shorts down just enough to reveal the low-profile plug nestled between Genji’s cheeks, stainless steel gleaming against the dark flesh. He runs one finger gently over the bar, watching the way Genji shivers, the delicate skin around the plug twitching. The steel is warm from the heat of Genji’s body. Zenyatta lets out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Is this what you call patience?” Zenyatta’s voice comes out rougher than he had intended. He works a finger under the discrete handle of the toy and gives a little tug. Genji’s reaction does not disappoint; he jerks and shudders. “Though it does explain why your form was so sloppy today.”

Genji laughs, but it trails off into a moan as Zenyatta pulls gently at the plug, sliding it out until he starts to meet resistance. He can see the pucker of Genji’s hole, the minute movements as the muscle reflexively tenses, as Genji takes a shuddering breath and forces himself to relax. 

“Fuck patience, just get your dick in me already,” Genji gasps out, squirming as much as he can in his current position. It hasn’t escaped Zenyatta’s notice that Genji hasn’t broken position, still holding his ankles as Zenyatta had asked. For someone so impatient, Genji seems remarkably obedient.

On impulse, Zenyatta asks, “Is that how you respect your teachers? Demand that they please you?” He takes a step back as he speaks, breaking all contact. 

He expects Genji to talk back, to finally break the pose. He does not expect Genji to make a wordless, agonized noise of frustration, followed by a deep, shuddering breath. Genji shifts his feet, squaring his stance, straightens his back, his form once again impeccable. 

“No sensei. Master. Tekhartha. I don’t-“ he cuts off with another noise of frustration, takes another breath. “I apologize.”

Zenyatta expects the sudden, heady wave of heat that washes over him at Genji’s acquiescence least of all. 

He takes a centering breath, finds himself wondering how far he can push his pupil. 

“We will now release the pose,” Zenyatta says, keeping his voice calm. He smiles slightly at Genji’s quickly-stifled whine. “Arms to the side, and move into Uttana Shishosana. Hands on the mat in front of you as you lower yourself into your knees. Extend your arms, dropping your forehead to the floor.”

He can _see_ the moment Genji realizes he’s on his knees, ass-up with his face pressed into the mats, the full-body shudder that travels down Genji’s spine. 

He makes a pretty picture, on display for Zenyatta with his swim shorts still pulled halfway down his ass. Zenyatta takes a moment to admire, to look his fill at the green dragon stretched across Genji’s back, the nape of his neck - flushed dark red - the strangely vulnerable dip of his spine just before the curve of his ass. 

The force of Zenyatta’s desire is like something alive in his chest, writhing around below his lungs. He’s been holding it at bay but it breaks loose now, sweat breaking out in hot little prickles at his temples, the small of his back. He wants to touch, to lick up the divot of Genji’s spine, to remove that infuriating toy and bury his aching cock there instead. 

He kneels behind Genji and says, with patience he does not feel, “Your form has improved.”

“Thank you, sensei,” Genji gasps out. “Master?”

“Master will do,” Zenyatta replies, running his hands lightly down Genji’s sides, entranced by the way Genji’s skin quivers and jumps under his touch. He pulls Genji’s swim shorts down further, lets the elastic snap back against Genji’s thighs - hard enough to sting, perhaps, but not enough to hurt. Enough to make Genji jerk, gasping, before settling back into the pose. 

He strokes his hands down over Genji’s ass, squeezing with one hand, pulling his cheeks apart. He hooks his fingers under the handle of the plug, pulls until he starts to feel resistance. 

“Should I remove this?” He asks, just to hear Genji reply. 

“ _Please_ ,” Genji says, so Zenyatta keeps up the gentle tension until the plug pops free, followed by a little blurt of lube. Genji had been generous with his prep, it seems. The plug is large, _heavy_ , and Zenyatta marvels at the fact Genji had managed to do any yoga with that unyielding intrusion inside him. 

Zenyatta pulls his loose pants down far enough to get his cock out, too impatient to move away from Genji long enough to strip them off completely. He drapes himself over Genji’s back, giving in to the urge to kiss between Genji’s shoulder blades, taste the salt-bitter sweat along Genji’s spine as Zenyatta rubs his cock through Genji’s wet crack. He shudders, Genji moans.

Part of him still wants to draw this out, see how much teasing it would take to make Genji snap and take what he wants, _if_ he would snap. He can’t though, a week’s worth of pent up frustration from the sight of Genji contorting himself in skintight lycra making him impatient. He pulls back, lines his cock up and then hesitates with the head just nudging Genji’s hole.

“Fuck, _fuck_ just do it, Master, I’m clean, you’re a _monk_ , come on,” Genji whines, shoving back as much as he can without moving his hands from where they’re flat against the mats.

“Patience,” Zenyatta says chidingly. 

“Fuck patience, I want your dick in me,” Genji responds in a frustrated whine.

Zenyatta can’t help but laugh at this ridiculous brat; so impatient but holding himself so still for Zenyatta’s cock. He runs his hands down Genji’s back, marvelling at the smooth skin, the heat of it under his palms, then deliberately sets his hand on the back of Genji’s neck and presses Genji’s face into the mats at the same moment as he begins to push forward with his hips. His cock slips then catches, breaches the soft resistance of Genji’s ass. He can feel Genji tense under him, the smooth slide suddenly tighter, and he should stop, he thinks, let Genji adjust - but he doesn’t, the same impulse that has him wanting to test Genji urging him onward. He presses in, slow but inexorable, feels Genji’s attempts to relax in the way the tight clench of his ass will suddenly loosen for a second, only to clench again. Genji’s under him shaking and swearing steadily until the hollows of Zenyatta’s hips are pressed tight against Genji’s ass and Genji’s litany trails off into moaning.

Zenyatta stays there for a moment, bent over Genji, just breathing. He very rarely seeks out sex, and it has been a long time since he was this intimate with another person. The pleasure threatens to overwhelm him, the scent of their bodies and the heat of Genji’s skin beneath him, the harsh sound of their breathing. When he starts to move, it’s slowly, drawing his cock out in one long, deliberate motion, waits with just the head still in Genji’s body until Genji is swearing at him again, and then presses Genji’s face gently back into the mats and slides his cock home.

The sound Genji makes is _glorious_ , an ecstatic, tortured moan that makes something inside Zenyatta resonate like a plucked string. He does it again, leaning back enough to watch the way Genji’s hole clutches at him as he pulls out, the way Genji takes his cock.

“Very good,” Zenyatta says breathlessly, and Genji makes a whimpery little noise in response, the muscles in his arms and shoulders straining as he digs his fingers into the mats. 

Zenyatta wants to see his face when he makes those noises. He threads his fingers into the short hair at the back of Genji’s skull, urges him to turn his head to the side. Genji’s eyes are tightly closed, his mouth open, the flush that darkens the back of his neck making his cheeks burn under Zenyatta’s gentle palm.

“You are beautiful,” Zenyatta marvels, fingers trailing along the thick line of Genji’s dark lashes, tracing his eyebrow, the corner of his lips.

Genji gasps under the praise, lips opening wider, and Zenyatta slips two fingers into his mouth, pressing against Genji’s tongue. Genji whines, wraps his lips around Zenyatta’s fingers and sucks. Zenyatta thrusts helplessly, Genji’s soft mouth sending pleasure like an electric current through his body. Genji’s legs are still caught together by his swim shorts, and in this position Zenyatta can’t bury himself as deeply as he wants to. He tries to make up for it by putting his core into it; short, hard thrusts that have Genji moaning around Zenyatta’s fingers until Genji gives up and just takes it, mouth slack, the pressure of Zenyatta’s fingers on his tongue dragging Genji’s mouth open.

It’s too much, pleasure building sharp and hot in the pit of his stomach. His forehead drops to Genji’s back, Genji still eagerly meeting his thrusts as Zenyatta fucks him. Zenyatta wants to hold out, wants to feel Genji come around him, but his orgasm is building, inevitable and inescapable.

Zenyatta’s orgasm hits him like a physical force, hot and electric, overwhelming. He shudders convulsively, still thrusting, barely aware of Genji’s desperate “fuck, oh _fuck_ ,” as Zenyatta spills in him.

He has to pull out finally, too sensitive and too soft to go on, heart racing and head full of pleasant static. He watches his come spill out of Genji’s hole, drags a trembling finger up Genji’s taint to collect it and push it back in, slides his finger in along with it. The desperate noise Genji makes reminds Zenyatta that Genji hasn’t come yet, and he’s just debating rolling Genji over and sucking him off when he sees the plug, dropped to the side and gleaming in the gentle lighting of the meditation room. 

Genji whimpers again when Zenyatta withdraws his finger, but he doesn’t move. Zenyatta picks up the plug - cool to the touch now, no longer blood heat - and snugs it up against Genji’s ass. Genji’s eyes snap open, a strangled, mewling whimper dragging itself out of his throat as the plug slides in. It doesn’t take much, Genji loose and easy, and that’s what does it: Genji moans as the plug slides home, curling in on himself as he comes.

Zenyatta pulls his pants back up, does the same for Genji - he wonders, for a moment, what to do about the plug, and then decides that’s a problem for Genji to deal with - and flops down on the floor, spent. He reaches out blindly, finds Genji’s arm and tugs him over. Genji goes easily, curling up with his head on Zenyatta’s shoulder. A moment later, he sighs and wriggles closer, throwing an arm over Zenyatta’s chest and tangling their legs together. Zenyatta pets whatever he can reach of Genji - the neon-bright hair tickling Zenyatta’s chin, the curve of Genji’s shoulder, down his arm - and enjoys being aggressively cuddled as his heart rate gradually returns to normal.

It’s Genji who breaks the moment, flopping onto a back with a groan. 

“I should go,” he says. “I’m meeting my brother for dinner at six, should probably shower before then.”

Zenyatta can feel his brow wrinkling in thought. 

“It was at least five thirty when we started,” he points out.

“Yup. He can wait, it’s good for him.” Genji sits up, wincing as he does so. “Shit, forgot you put it back in.” He turns a devilish grin on Zenyatta. “Dirty old monk. Maybe I should leave it in, come back here later for round two. How about it? You were good, I’d fuck you again.” 

He says it as though he’s dispensing a favor, but something tells Zenyatta to tread carefully. He rolls himself upright and into a crosslegged position, not missing the way Genji’s eyes go wide and he licks his lips.

“It was very enjoyable,” he replies, hesitating for a second as he thinks about how to say the next part.

Something in Genji’s face changes at that hesitation.

“Come back if you are ever interested in more than casual sex,” Zenyatta says gently, reaching out to cup Genji’s cheek with one hand.

“That’s the nicest anyone’s ever let me down,” Genji says with a sharp little laugh. He turns his face into Zenyatta’s hand, kisses his palm before clambering to his feet. “Alright, no hard feelings. I’ll call you if I need more yoga dick.” 

He winks at Zenyatta, scoops up the linen overshirt he’d been wearing before the session, and then he’s sauntering casually out the door as if he isn’t still wearing a butt plug after getting fucked on the floor of a yoga studio. Zenyatta blinks, shaking his head a little in disbelief. 

What a remarkable young man.


End file.
